Gentleman Cyclist

Day 11 – 15th April 2007

This morning was marred by the disappearance of the Cateye cycle computer. We searched everywhere we could think of and I have to conclude that I must have left it behind on the wall near Clitheroe Castle when we dismantled the bike yesterday, so today’s mileage remains unrecorded, as does our top speed.

Today was very hard work. We were late arriving in Clitheroe to pick up where we left off yesterday, and the 8 miles to Slaidburn took 2 hours. I found it hard to get going. The weather was unseasonably hot and everything was a great struggle.

We finally arrived at Slaidburn at about 12.10 and found the café. Jan was pleased with her selection of roast beef sandwiches and I chose beans on toast. We sat outside the café for about an hour, taking photographs and chatting to some motorcyclists who looked at us as though we were mad when I said we were heading for Sedbergh.

Suitably fortified, we set off for the wilderness. Whilst I was planning the route for this trip, this was the day that worried me the most. My chief concern that there would be a late April snowfall and that the road north out of Slaidburn would become impassable. My worries were totally unjustified by events as this was in some parts of England the hottest April day for 50 years, and in places the tar was melting on the road. I thought that the “ride” from Slaidburn to High Bentham, over the Cross of Greet, the highest point of our entire ride, would probably take about 3 hours.

It was a very interesting ride, with plenty to see. I am invariably surprised how many wading birds, which I see in large numbers in the Thames Estuary, are also quite at home in the hills. We frequently saw, and heard, curlews, and were treated to some fine aerobatics by a lapwing, which dived around and above our heads giving its plantive “peewit” cry. What impressed me most was the sound of its wingbeats – a surprisingly loud “whoomph whoomph whoomph”. Later, we saw some oystercatchers, but heard them before we saw them.

Perhaps the most interesting bird we saw was – well, I’m not sure what it was. It had a conspicuous white rump and I would have said a wheatear – except it had far more black plumage than any wheatear that I have ever seen.

Curiously, we saw no predatory birds at all today. On every other day we have seen buzzards, a few kestrels an an occasional sparrowhawk. Today, in countryside I thought would have been ideal buzzard territory, not a thing.

We reached the highest point of the ride – the Cross of Greet – some time after 3pm, and had some sandwiches and some flapjack at 427 metres above sea level, in scorching sunshine. Thereafter, we hurtled down the hill towards High Bentham, arriving 10 minutes inside my 3-hour prediction. I hugely regret losing the Cateye as the speeds we reached on that descent felt far faster than any other speed I have achieved on a bicycle. I’m convinced we were well in excess of 50mph.

It is remarkable how a small success like this can put a spring into the pedal strokes. We headed west along the B-road and dived into the Punch Bowl in Low Bentham, which seemed to lay the claim to be the first and last pub in Yorkshire. A group of local chaps were sitting outside.

“Where’s t’kitchen sink?” came the cry. I looked at the heavily laden tandem. “It’s in there somewhere.” The niceties dealt with, we had an affable chat.

“Art tha a bit eccentric?” asked their spokesman, after I had explained the purpose of our journey. “No, completely mad!” After a little more of this good-natured banter we finished our drinks and went on our way.

We were now in the Lune Valley and everything was very green. The road had levelled out and our progress was quicker.

Kirby Lonsdale was overcrowded with motor cyclists and after that we climbed again – still rideable but hard work. Gradually we whittled away the miles to Sedbergh but perhaps the most frustrating were the last two or three, when the road gave the appearance of being level but we still had to push the pedals quite hard to make progress. We reached our B & B at about 7pm, showered and headed for the pub.

Day 10 – 14th April 2007

The day began with a surprise visit from Tubbycyclist, bearer of glad tidings and a Schwalbe Marathon Plus 26″ * 1.75″ tyre. Kevin, for that is his proper name, came in for a cup of tea and a chat. In the course of conversation it transpired that he was originally from Southend and attended the Sacred Heart School. I teach there for one hour a week. Well well well!

We were left to our own devices for a couple of hours but shortly after 2pm Jan and I set off for Clitheroe. For most of the first 5 miles we were reaping what we had sown yestrday, as the long grinding climb from Rawtenstall to Dunnockshaw was rewarded with a prolonged downward swoop all the way to Padiham. We climbed Padiham Heights, went down the other side into Sabden and then walked up the Nick of Pendle. At the top we enjoyed an ice cream: a local brew from Hudson’s of Chatburn.

We then zoomed down into Clitheroe, clocking our fastest speed of 45.2mph. We waited at Clitheroe Castle for Helen, and when she arrived, dismantled the bike and put it in the Jeep.

We all walked to the curry house in Crawshawbooth, a round trip of about 6 miles. We had a very good meal. The evening was enlivened by a phone call from Heather, who had been fortunate enough to place a £2 each-way bet at 40-1 on some nag or other which had then romped home in the Grand National

Day 9 – 13th April 2007

Today we had a lie-in followed by a leisurely breakfast. Then Janet and I strolled into Walkden and did some essential shopping in the form of a couple of spare inner tubes and a pressure gauge for Presta valves.

After lunch, consisting of bacon butties, we loaded the bike and headed for the hills – again. With Enid’s help we worked out a very quiet route to Kearsley and then used NCN route 6 (no, I never learn) to Radcliffe, Ainsworth and Tottington.

We crossed the M66/A56 into Edenfield and then through Rawtenstall (I have been to Rawtenstall many times but have yet to witness the Annual Fair). From there it was a slow and steady plod along a familiar road – the A682 – to Crawshawbooth, Love Clough and Dunnockshaw before climbing part way up the Hameldon Hill to New Laithe Farm.

Nephew Robert proved to be the perfect host, supplying soup, bread and coffee. I pumped up the tyres of his mountain bike and I also gave the tandem a “once over”, washing off all the accumulated dust, proofiding the saddle and giving both chains a good dose of Purple Extreme.

There had been quite abit of discussion on the ACF forum about the various chain lubricants. For what it’s worth, I have had to adjust the chain of my solo bike so it has stretched quite a lot. Mostly that has been lubricated with White Lightning (no, not that sort) and the chain stretched noticeably during the first 1000 miles. Today we completed our first 1000 miles on the tandem, I have only used Purple extreme as a lubricant and there is no noticeable stretch in either chain. They have been under great pressure as well. In my mind, Purple Extreme knocks spots off any other chain lubricant I have used.

Day 8 – 12th April 2007

Breakfast at the Red Cow was actually pretty good, but on balance I think it is better to stay at specialist B & Bs rather than pubs. A pub’s priority ought to be selling good beer, and sometimes it seems that the accommodation takes second place.

It was another lovely morning as we headed towards Church Minshull, and toyed with the idea of the canal towpath. However, we had had enough of off-road for a while so even thought the A-roads were busy, at least we were able to keep up a good pace.

We had an awkward right-turn near Northwich and had been waiting for quite some time for a gap in the traffic, when suddenly a motorist gave way from the right, whilst another followed suit from the left. How refreshing that there are considerate people out there!

At one point we heard an unusual bird call, so stopped to look, and there was a nuthatch scurrying around in the branches of a nearby oak. There are nuthatches in Essex, apparently, although in England, I have only ever seen them in the north and west. There seem to be plenty in Wales.

Somewhere in the area of Lostock Gralam there was a massive chemical works, with pipes bridging the road to some reservoir or other which clearly had never been discovered by the map makers. “Beware of steam vapour for one mile”, said the road sign, so we did that, and were soon on quiet rural roads again.

We had just passed through Pickmere and turned into Frog Lane. We had scarcely gone a yard when BANG! With open jaws a lion sprang! Actually, it didn’t, but the fettling of which I had been so proud not two days ago was undone in an instant as the brand new Panaracer Pasela 26″*1.75″ tyre, being of a dangerous sort, exploded with a loud report [that’s enough Hilaire Belloc references. – Ed.]

I can think of no prettier place than Pickmere if you ever have to change a tyre. It’s a little irksome, to say the least, when that particular tyre cost the best part of £20 and had done only about 80 miles, but the irk was immediately lessened when a chap who had been busily hoovering out his BMW offers you a cup of tea. His name was Keith and he definitely provided a service of great value, disposing of the ruined tyre and tube for us. Thanks, Keith!

In quick succession we crossed the M6 and the M56, resisting the temptation to moon at the motorists below, and then joined the A6144 on its inexorable journey into the metropolis. We felt like a couple of hobbits crossing from the green and pleasant Minas Tirith that is rural Cheshire into the Mordor of Manchester. Crossing the Mersey just doesn’t have the romantic feel to it as crossing the Tamar had done all those miles ago.

In Davyhulme we happened upon a bike shop in which the only member of staff present was a youth. I asked him if he had any 26*1.75 Schwalbe Marathon Pluses and after rummaging around he came back with a pair of 700Cs. At least they were made by Schwalbe, which is something, I suppose. We carried on.

The next couple of miles were amongst the nastiest of my entire cycling life. We went right past the Dark Tower of the Trafford Centre and after a little respite we crossed the Manchester Ship Canal and rode alongside the Bridgewater Canal. The worst part was having to negotiate junction 13 of the M61 and the very unpleasant A575. We took to the pavement and, on crossing the East Lancs Road, picked our way through some peaceful residential roads to Enid’s and David’s house.

Once we had been fed (Covent Garden parsnip and apple soup and ham sandwiches) the quest was on for another tyre or two. I was getting paranoid at the rate we were getting through them and I didn’t want to be tyreless on some remote Scottish hillside in a howling blizzard. I tracked one down at the Green Machine cycle shop in Horwich, so Enid, lovely lady that she is, gave me a lift past the Reebok stadium to Lee Lane, where I purchased the said item. The Green Machine looks to me like another good bike shop.

So that’s all the riding for nearly 24 hours and we have only about 25 miles to do tomorrow. We will set off for Dunnockshaw after lunch.

Day 7 – 11th April 2007

We awoke to another fine day – clear skies and some spilt-milk mist clinging to the valley floor below.

We wanted to buy a replacement spare tyre today, but we drew a blank in Ludlow – even the well-stocked Pearce Cycles, well out of town on the Fishmore Road, couldn’t supply what we wanted.

Again, the day began with climbing. We threaded our way through the end of Wenlock Edge and again our speed stayed down. It was a very pretty ride – one of the highlights was coming upon a trio of donkeys, one of whom deigned to let us stroke his nose. Has anyone ever done LEJoG on a donkey, I wonder?

The downhill towards Leighbotwood was one of the most exhilarating so far. Never so steep that the bike started to run away, and never completely straight. It reminded me of a bobsleigh run.

We arrived in Condover at about 1.20 and Andrea provided us with a good lunch of soup, bread and cheese, fruit cake and apples. An hour later we were on our way, looking for Stan Jones’ bike shop in Shrewsbury. We found it with no difficulty and they had exactly what we wanted – a Schwalbe Marathon Plus in 26″*1.75″. It seems that the walls of the Schwalbe are much more robust than those of the Panaracer Pasela. We had a good chat with the salesman – a friendly and knowledgable guy. I’d rate Stan Jones as “very good” in the bike shops’ league.

There was a grinding climb out of Shrewsbury which lasted several miles up to Harmer Hill (the name gives it away), but eventually we reached the B5476 to Wem. We had to be alert here as the council were clearly intent that everyone should be funnelled back onto the A49 to Whitchurch, and we nearly missed the turning. However, a look at the map soon put us right and now that the roads were generally flatter as we headed towards the Cheshire Plain, we were able to maintain a pretty good turn of speed.

After Whitchurch we were onto the minor roads through to Wrenbury, no longer in the Severn catchment area, but having crossed the watershed towards the Weaver, which is a tributary of the Mersey. These smaller roads were a relief after the 20 or so busy miles since Shrewsbury, in which quite often a queue of traffic would form behind us as we ground up some hill or other at 5mph.

The last stretch into Nantwich was pretty easy, and Jan was able to take a call from her sister Helen as we rode along. How nonchalant!

We found our digs, but were very disappointed to discover that they were not serving food, which I had been told that they were when I booked – something to do with England playing football. We had arranged to meet Alan and Marge Smith for a drink, and we did so, spending a pleasant hour or so, but finally the need for sustenance became a priority so we went to the Chinese restaurant. Very pricey, but quite tasty.

During the meal, I took the opportunity to phone my sister Tricia and to wish her a happy birthday. I won’t say which it was, but I wished her many years’ use of her bus pass.

Day 6 – 10th April 2007

It dawned on me today for the first time that minor roads are invariably more hilly, and therefore lead to slower cycling, than do A-roads. This is quite a shameful admission for the oft-times winner of the King Edward VI Grammar School John Motson prize for the Bleedin’ Obvious. A-roads became A-roads precisely because they were the most popular routes between two places. And why were the most popular? Because people get there quicker!

So it was on leaving Chepstow that we took a left turn at St. Arvans and then did lots of climbing as we travelled over the Devauden Road. It’s not just the slower cycling that slows you down (if you do half your journey at 4mph and the other half at the speed of light you still only average 8mph) but also the need for more frequent rests, and the non-existent, or, worse still, unclear road signs. So it was that the 16 mile journey into Monmouth took us about 3 hours.

It was a very enjoyable 3 hours. Again, the scenery was breathtaking and the Brecon Beacons beckoned from the west. We saw several buzzards and watched one as it soared above us for quite some minutes, displaying the wonderful patterns on the underside of the wings; and another, gliding in stealth mode in woodland before alighting in a nearby tree. Jan took some photos of the wildflowers in the steep bank and as she did I noticed a vole scurrying around above her.

We had coffee and then started the long grind up the A466 towards Hereford. “Light vehicles only” said the road sign, so we half-expected to be turned back by the police. However, we travailed and were rewarded by the rather grisly sight of a squashed polecat, very close to the English border. This was the first I had ever seen, dead or alive.

There seemed to be a distinct pub dearth in this route, so we dived into a village shop in St. Weonards (where do these saints get their names?) and cleaned him out of flapjack. Suitably refreshed, we carried on.

Several times along the way I thought I detected some unevenness from the rear wheel. I checked the spokes – all OK. The brakes were working perfectly so the rims must be fine. Yet the nagging doubt remained that not all was right.

We joined the A49 for the last 5 miles into Hereford. It is a horrid road, but on this particular stretch it is virtually all downhill so we managed as many miles in 15 minutes as had taken us at least an hour earlier in the day.

On leaving Hereford we found some pleasant, and mostly flattish, minor roads through Sutton St. Nicholas and Bodenham. We then spent about 3 miles on the A417, which was OK, but the point at which it joined the A 489 the traffic was nightmarish We ended up pushing the tandem along the grass verge, but it was less than half a mile before we turned left into Leominster.

Our stops were becoming more frequent as Jan was suffering from saddle-sore and was also suffering from cramp in her right calf. As she was indulging in a little relieving yoga, I inspected the rear wheel again as it was still worrying me. The problem was immediately obvious: a tear in the wall of a brand-new Panaracer Pasela tyre, no doubt as a result of cycling on the dreadful sustrans route just north of Bristol.

The remainder of the journey was slow and uneventful and when we arrived at the digs at around 7.45 our host immediately gave me access to the garage for fettling purposes It was at this point that I realised that I had never actually removed the rear wheel from this bike. It was all pretty straightforward and within 20 minutes or so I was test-driving the tandem. A quick shower later and we were foraging for a pub that still served food at 8.50pm.

The first pub we tried sent me somewhere else and the second was no better, at least, from the food aspect. However, they did serve Black Sheep and Timothy Taylor landlord, as well as a bitter called Hobson’s. With a choice like that we had to stay for a drink and we were soon chatting to two very pleasant ladies about the best place to eat in Ludlow.

Now I’m not normally that adept at chatting up strange women in bars, particularly in my wife’s company, but in the end we joined Sharon and Jane (for that is who they were) for a second Indian meal on successive nights, and a very convivial evening it was! So, thanks, ladies, for your company and if you are ever unfortunate enough to stray Southend then please be our guests!

Day 5 – 9th April 2007

We awoke this morning to grey skies – something of a shock after the treat we had enjoyed over the previous 4 days. Again, we had a splendid breakfast – we seem to have been as fortunate with our B & Bs as we have with the weather.

This was a morning for long trousers and a warm top, and the flat countryside enabled us to keep up a good speed, covering 10 miles in the first hour. Shortly after crossing the A39 at Shapwick we met a group from the Somerset CTC who had been on a 4-day tour. Almost all were riding Argos bikes – no, not bought from a well-known purveyor of household goods, but a renowned local builder of the finest riding irons. We chatted briefly and they passed on some useful info regarding Cheddar and the Mendips. Also, the Severn crossing: cycles on the north side, apparently.

We stopped at Wedmore for some coffee, which is where I have scribbled these words. So far, 19.53 miles at 9.6mph – 2h 1m 9s.

Cheddar Gorge was rather fun. There were lots of slow-moving cars, not enough parking spaces, and it’s really not the place to visit on an Easter Monday bank holiday. But here we were. We earned many admirers and one round of applause when we cycled up only getting off to push for about 200 yards and that at the steepest section.

Once we were over the Mendips, lunch became a priority and the Blue Bowl, near the Chew Valley lake, provided a very good “ploughmans”.

From here, there were more hills than I expected and when we found our way into Ashton Park I was very cross to find that we had somehow missed our way and had to climb a very unpleasant 1 in 7 to get to the Clifton Suspension Bridge.

As cyclist we had no toll to pay, and it was from here that Sustrans, and Route 4 in particular, proved useful. Finding our way through Bristol was easy. Unfortunately, once we started heading out of the city towards the Severn Bridge, we were taken through all sorts of outlandish places, so desolate and deserted that one could easily imagine gangland murders occurring. Worse than that, I reckon that Sustrans added a good 3 miles to the route I had planned and it was a matter of some regret that I didn’t pay more attention to my own route planning sheet.

We did eventually find our way onto the bridge, and were rewarded with a fine sunset. We finally reached Chepstow around 8.30pm and found our digs with little difficulty The tribulations of the day were almost compensated for by the excellent Indian meal we enjoyed, prior to a romantic stroll down to the river Wye, and a less romantic night snoring and spluttering.

Day 4 – 8th April 2007

What a difference a day makes! Yesterday was as hard a day’s cycling as one would ever hope to meet; todays was a dawdle by comparison. Our attitude had changed as well. In spite of eating breakfast at 8am, we were not away until 10. A good deal of the late start can be accounted for by our hosts: former Essex residents (Radwinter) whose son did the end-to-end 16 years ago, in 8 days! Dad operated the support vehicle, so 130 miles per day, although extreme, is doable for a fit teenager without luggage who sticks to the A roads nearly all the way.

Apart from the early walk up the steep hill from Chulmleigh, we had a very steady day’s cycling. Navigation was straightforward as the first 19 miles, into Tiverton, were along a B road, almost all easterly so that the outside of my right thigh became sunburnt. We also found the canal towpath with ease, but Sustrans, as ever, came up trumps: the gates were locked and it was impossible to get a fully laden tandem through the labyrinth barrier. After a little exploration and asking passers-by, we found the canal basin and we were away It was not fast cycling, but at least we were free from hills for 10 miles or more. The canal was interesting too: at one point a large fish swirled on the surface, and later we saw a beautiful little perch.

On leaving the tow-path, we kept to Sustrans route 3, and it led us quite a dance. The road signs were all pretty unhelpful but in the village of Greenham, we found a man with a 1:50000 OS map. That sorted us out for a while, but around Langford Budville the doubts set in again. We muddled through somehow but I am not sure even now which roads we took.

On reaching Nynehead we found ourselves climbing a delightful little sandstone gorge and not long afterwards we were in Taunton – to think that we were here a few mornings ago wondering when the train would set off.

I have decided I don’t like Taunton. To an extent that is self-inflicted because I failed to plot the route in sufficient detail and we got lost. I asked a couple of old geezers and they were no help. We were looking for the Taunton and Bridgwater Canal, but ended up finding Junction 25 of the M5, with its extremely unpleasant roundabout intersection with the A38. We had no choice but to take on this maxi-roundabout and were finally relieved to find ourselves on quieter roads and heading into Rushton.

Even on arriving in North Curry, our guest house eluded us for a while, but we were eventually rewarded with an elegant red-brick former doctor’s residence.

Our bike was stowed away, baths were had, washing handed to the landlady and then we were off to the pub. We had the restaurant to ourselves as there was a noisy and inaccurate quiz going on in the other bar. The quizmaster told everyone that the circumference of a circle was equal to pi r squared.

I actually turned the television on in our room and sneaked a look at the weather forecast for the next week. It’s looking pretty good for the foreseeable future, if it isn’t tempting providence too much to say so.

As we walked the 100 yards or so from the Bird in hand to Trevarrick House, we benefitted from the absence of street lighting. The stars were far brighter than we ever see them in SE Essex, although we had to be careful where we put our feet.

Day 3 – 7th April 2007

We really rated Lyndon House as a B & B. Nothing seemed to be too much trouble for our landlady – I gained the impression that she was perhaps rather new to the hospitality business and was maybe trying just a bit too hard, but we weren’t complaining. The room was comfortable and well-appointed, the shower was very good indeed, the breakfast was generous, consisting of cereal, fruit compôte, yogurt, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and toast washed down with lashings of tea from bone china mugs that appeared to be hand-painted. Whilst we ate we admired a picture-postcard view across the valley. The only possible drawback here was that Jan does not like smoked salmon. Of course, it would have been rude to say anything or leave it on the side of the plate, so I was obliged to eat it, and there was a lot of it. That left me feeling a little queasy for a good deal of the morning…

The morning was perfect cloudless and unusually warm for early April. There were more hills than I knew existed anywhere. we climbed and we climbed and we climbed and as we climbed … we got off the bike and pushed on more occasions than we cared to mention. On the smallest, steepest, most remote road, a BMW driver followed us up the hill. We were pushing the bike and there wasn’t room for him to overtake. When he did get teh chance, he wound down his window and kindly advcised us that we were meant to ride it. I hope his piles give him 1000 years’ agony.

It wasn’t long before we reached Minions, high up in Bodmin Moor, with Brown Willy, the highest point in Cornwall, showing its head away to the north-west.

It seemed to take an age to reach Launceston. It was only about 17 miles from St. Neot, but our overall slow speed meant that we were there just before 1pm. We decided that the next pub would be Lunch, and it was, but not before we crossed the Tamar. That momentous event took place at 1.20pm, and we finally arrived at the pub in Bratton Clovelly around 3pm, where we had some sandwiches. We carried on from there to Okehampton, just as the greengrocers and the coffee shop were closing, but we did manage some bananas and carrot cake.

We climbed out of Okehampton and on the rebound reached our highest speed to date, 44.9mph. From there, we carried on to North Tawton with still another 10 miles to go and it would be touch and go as to whether we needed to fit the front light. WE finally arived at the Red Lion in Chulmleigh at about 8.15, 11 hours after we set off, 7h 40 minutes of which were cycling time.

Day 2 – 6th April 2007

We bade farewell to Trevone House and Gweek after a superb breakfast. Our landlady had washed and dried yesterday’s clothes, and we were away around 9.15. We made for Falmouth, which was a journey of just under 10 miles, but it took us about 1½ hours.

We had a coffee whilst waiting for the St. Mawes ferry and then joined the queue for the 11.15. Another cyclist, whose plan was to ride along the south coast, helped us carry the tandem down the steps to the boat.

St. Mawes is very picturesque, bathed in glorious sunshine, and we cycled, and then walked, up the steep hill. This is an A road, but pretty quiet, and we kept on it to Tregony. We then made a small mistake, following asign to an “off piste” pub, and after a half-mile diversion, in which we didn’t find it, we retraced our pedal-strokes and then climbed the hill into Tregony village.

The King’s Arms served excellemt beer and the cod & chips were also very tasty. We have learned that every time we leave a pub we immediately have to climb a hill. We kept to the B3287 until it joined the A390 and there wasn’t a lot of traffic about so we decided to stay on the main road into St. Austell – there was a minor road alternative through Sticker. This proved to be a good choice because on the 1 in 12 we achieved 40.3mph. However, we didn’t fancy the uphill section with traffic whizzing past at 60, so we took to the pavement.

We found our way through St. Austell and into Carclaze. It seems to me that there comes a point in every hard ride that you have had enough, and this was it. St. Austell is surrounded by steep hills and you have a climb whichever way you go, unless you go by sea. We got on with it and eventually found ourselves outside the town and heading through Trethurgy and then on to Luxulyan. The pub was open so we had a drink and then climbed yet another hill.

I remarked to Jan that the worst thing about this riding was our inability to get into a rhythm. We were either grinding our way up hills at about 4mph or hurtling down the other side at speeds in excess of 25mph. What I craved was a stretch of nice, flat road, and suddenly, that was what we got! NCN route 3, which we followed for a while, goes through a flattish, marshy area with stunted woodland that reminded me of a mangrove swamp. It was a very narrow road with a lush ridge of turf growing along the centre, and for 4 or 5 miles we kept up a reasonably steady 10mph. This stretch was followed by a wonderful downhill where for several minutes we just flew.

We then reached Fletchersbridge, and lots more climbing. After another 3 or 4 very steep miles we travelled through Mount, and with one more uphill I suffered from the dreaded bonk, and we had to dismount. We each had a cereal bar and struggled into St. Neot shortly after 7pm. We put our booked table back to 8pm, had the most wonderful high-pressure shower and went to the pub for tea.